


The Art of Adjustment

by Mimifreed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Cooking Lessons, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Muggle Studies, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24384316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimifreed/pseuds/Mimifreed
Summary: (DRAMIONE) It's 8th year at Hogwarts and after the Battle, all students are required to take Muggle Studies. As a challenge to show that muggle skills are needed, the students are paired off and must complete a cooking project to pass! Hermione has this in the bag... at least, she thought so until she was paired with Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 256





	The Art of Adjustment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starryar (Breadmione)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breadmione/gifts).



> This was made at the suggestion of my lovely friend Starryar, after listening to me complain for days on end about my husband's absolute ineptitude in the kitchen!  
> (p.s. the ending project meal was a challenge meal I actually made while in Culinary School! So it is near and dear to my heart! I hope you enjoy!)

_**"Cooking is simply but the art of adjustment."** _

_**-Jacques Pepin** _

* * *

Hermione smirked as she crossed her arms over her chest, eyes trained forward on Professor Burbage. The Muggle Studies class was in a near uproar, complaints shouting from either side of the room as Professor Burbage explained their newest project.

The eighth year curriculum had been, thus far, fully educational in terms of learning and books. The class was mostly lecture driven accompanied by discussion topics that mostly included the history and theory behind Muggle events and technology.

Today, upon entering the class, Hermione was ready to answer the tons of questions she was used to hearing. They ranged in levels of confusion by the purebloods in the group, most of the halfbloods at least had some level of understanding, although she was quickly discovering that it was a very rudimentary understanding.

"How does a vehicle drive?"

"What is an airplane?"

"How do you wash your dishes?"

"What do you _mean_ there's no Pumpkin Juice?!"

"Why would you use _another person's blood_ to replenish your own?!"

Hermione and Justin Finch-Fletchley were the only two muggleborn students who returned for the Eighth Year at Hogwarts, so they had both become accustomed to answering the most questions during the class time.

"That's enough!" Professor Burbage shouted over the class.

"Professor! You can't _possibly_ expect us to be able to do this?" Theo Nott cried from his corner of the room. "I've never even _seen_ how house elves prepare food!"

"Mr. Nott, that is precisely why this exercise is important!" She placed her hands on her hips as she addressed the settling class. "There may come a time that you find yourself without a wand, and in need of food! Should that time arise, you need to know how to prepare something for yourself."

The rules were simple. Each pair of students will prepare a meal of their choosing. It must have a source of protein, a starch, a fruit and a vegetable. The grade would be given based on the quality of the meal and the effort expended to prepare it.

"In other words," Professor Burbage had explained. "Even if it tastes horrible, if I can see you put the effort in to actually try to learn this skill, you will receive a passing grade."

Hermione was not worried, in the least. She had already been nudged by Neville, to which she responded with a nod and a smile. Teaching Neville to cook may be a difficult task, but she was sure she could accomplish it. And if he ended up not being able to grasp what she taught him, she would take over and complete the assignment on her own.

Hermione had learned to cook at a young age. Her father loved to cook, and her mother loved to watch him cook. They often spent evenings in the kitchen, helping her father prepare meals and talking about the goings on in the world. Finally, when she was old enough and tall enough to see over the top of the four burner range, her father taught her how to cook with heat. How to make fabulous sauces, the correct way to cook chicken so it wasn't dry, his favorite recipe for roasted vegetables. She was confident in her ability to prepare a tasty meal. Afterall, she had done all of the cooking while she, Ron, and Harry were on the run. And she had only had a campfire and limited access to ingredients.

She sighed. She missed her friends. Of course, she still had friends at Hogwarts, but it wasn't the same without her boys. They had all been offered apprenticeships in the Ministry's Aurour program almost instantly after the war. And while Harry and Ron accepted, eager to get to work and begin functional training; Hermione wanted to come back to school. Her education was still important to her and she felt slighted, having missed out on her seventh year completely.

She was beyond excited when Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, announced that Hogwarts would open and hold a special year of learning for those students who were unable to attend their final year due to the war. It was a set curriculum, classes hand picked by McGonagall herself, that she felt were the most important for a young adult witch or wizard to know outside of Hogwarts.

So far, this year had been wonderful. Aside from missing her friends, who wrote far more often than Hermione would have ever expected them to, she felt like she could finally be herself. She didn't have the weight of the war on her shoulders anymore, and while she spent a lot of time between spring and fall healing and trying to come to grips with what her new normal would be, it was as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her chest.

"Professor, our common room only has a small kitchenette! How are we all supposed to create a meal with one kitchen?" Pansy Parkinson asked, an exasperated look pulling her features into her hairline.

"The classroom will be transfigured accordingly." Professor Burbage responded.

After another round of "buts" and "what ifs" from the group of students, they seemed to finally settle enough to let the shock of the project pass, and focus on the criteria.

"Now that you've all settled, I can't wait to hear another uproar from you—Partners will be randomly selected and paired our of this jar." She held up a black jar and laughed lightly as the entire class groaned again.

"We can't even pick our own partners?!" Neville cried, looking nervously at Hermione.

"No, Mr. Longbottom, you may not." The Professor said, her tone clipped. "Now that we're all done whinging like children, we're going to count off- ones and twos- ones will come draw a name and twos will stay seated."

They counted off around the room and everyone who counted as a 'one' stood from their chairs and made their way to the front of the class. Hermione was third in line, happy to see Neville and Ernie Macmillan's name hadn't been called. She supposed she would be okay with Theo Nott, he was friendly enough.

She pulled the small piece of parchment out of the jar and smiled at Professor Burbage. She opened it up and her smile quickly fell.

_Draco Malfoy_

She blinked a few times, squinting at the small writing to make sure she had read it correctly. Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed.

"Malfoy." She said, looking back up from the parchment. "My partner is Draco Malfoy."

"Okay, I have you marked down, Hermione. You may take your spot next to Mister Malfoy and begin sorting your ideas for your menu."

Hermione nodded and gathered her items from her desk, walking across the room to where Draco Malfoy sat. He looked completely indifferent, bored, even. She set her bag down on the desk and fell into the seat, her mind feeling fuzzy.

How on _earth_ was she supposed to work a project with Draco Malfoy?!

Everyone had been shocked to see the blonde walk through the entrance of the castle at the start of term. Even Pansy and Blaise Zabini had admitted they had no idea he would be returning. The Malfoy Trials had been scandalous, tearing through the news all summer long. A witch couldn't open the Prophet without seeing one of the three blondes gracing the pages.

Draco and Narcissa had been completely exonerated after (what the Daily Prophet described as) a heart-felt and longwinded testimony from Harry. Hermione had initially questioned Harry on his stance, wondering why, after so much hate for Malfoy, would he testify for his release. Harry's answer had been so incredibly simple:

" _They did what they thought they had to do to survive."_ He had said. _"Same as us. When it really mattered, when it was the most important, they finally put others before themselves."_

She had been proud of her best friend in that moment. He had been able to put aside the years of hatred and disdain for Draco Malfoy to try and ensure he would not be damned to Azkaban like his father.

"Granger." Malfoy said, seemingly annoyed.

"What?" She snapped, pulling her eyes up from her quill.

"I asked if you have any experience cooking?" He said, his voice low.

"Oh." She blinked a few times, finally resting her eyes on his face. "Yes. I do."

Malfoy nodded.

"Do you?" She asked, tilting her head a bit to the side.

"Is that an actual question?" Malfoy asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"No, Granger." He grumbled. "I do not have any experience muggle cooking."

He held her gaze a moment before dropping his eyes to his bag as he rooted through it for a quill. She stared at him, wondering when his face had changed so much. Before the war, he had been so… _broken_. During their sixth year, she could only ever remember seeing him a handful of times around other students. He had taken to wandering the corridors alone. Even in classes, he kept to himself. She remembered how thin and sickly he had looked, his face had been sunken in, his eyes seemed dull.

Now, his eyes were practically dancing with emotion, swirling clouds of sterling behind thick black lashes. His face had filled back out, no longer hollowed and sickly. He was still pale as ever, but his skin looked healthy now. Even his hair looked soft and—

 _Did you just think about_ Draco Malfoy's _hair being soft?_ She thought to herself, shaking her head to rid her mind of the thoughts.

This was ridiculous. She needed to collect herself and get to work. If Malfoy truly had no idea what he was doing, it would certainly be a task. Although, he was intelligent, always a close second to her marks in every class. She was sure he would catch on quickly and then, hopefully, with a little luck, they wouldn't have to practice every spare moment out of class.

"I had an idea of what we could make. Professor Burbage said we would only have a double class period, so that gives us four hours."

"Yes, I do know how to tell time." Malfoy said, not even bothering to look up from his parchment as he scribbled down the outline of the criteria for the project.

She rolled her eyes and huffed, continuing her thought. "I thought we could make a roasted chicken with root vegetables and a salad."

"What about the starch?" He asked, finally looking up from his notes. "We need to make rice or pasta or-

"No, we don't." Hermione interjected. "Root vegetables like parsnips, carrots and potatoes are considered a starch. We can use that to our advantage. It will be easier than preparing something else because we can cook it all together and focus on the preparation of the salad."

Malfoy held up his hands at his shoulders, palms facing out, in defeat. "You're the expert here. You had better make something good."

" _We_ will make something good." She said, raising her eyebrows. "Part of our grade depends on participation, Malfoy. You'll have to learn how to cook if you want a passing mark."

As the class continued, they got the menu for their project figured out. A whole roasted rosemary and lemon chicken with potatoes, carrots, and celeriac. And a mesculun salad with dried strawberries and toasted almonds and a strawberry vinaigrette.

"I don't know what half of that is." Malfoy said, looking over the list.

"You don't know what chicken is?" Hermione chuckled, folding her arms over her chest.

"I _know_ what chicken is." He shot her a look and pointed at the list. "What is a celeriac? Is that something you just made up?"

"No. I didn't make up a vegetable to confuse you." She huffed. "It's the root of celery."

"Why not just use celery?" Malfoy asked.

"Because it tastes better when it's roasted."

"Uh-huh." He nodded, biting the inside of his right cheek. "And Mesculun is… what?"

"It's just a mix of spring lettuces— _Godric_ , Malfoy! Have you never thought to ask about what you're eating?!"

"Not really, no. The house elves prepared it and brought it to the tables and cleaned up. It was like clockwork. I never needed to think about it."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Typical."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Malfoy asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Using elves and not even bothering to learn how they do what they do for you?! It's just very typical high class behavior. Well by all means, don't look down your nose on my accord!"

Malfoy blanched, his head pulling back a few inches to look her up and down. "I am not _looking down my nose_ at you, Granger. I've just never thought about cooking before! Longbottom looks just as lost as I am and I'm sure you wouldn't be chastising him!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. He was right. If she _had_ been paired with Neville, she would have just accepted that he didn't know how to do it and moved on.

"You're right." She mumbled, softening her expression.

"And you know I- wait. What?"

"I said, you're right." She spoke a bit louder. "That isn't fair to you. I shouldn't treat you badly just because you had privileges that other wizards didn't."

Malfoy straightened his back and she watched as his eyes flicked around, scanning her face for insincerity as he grabbed the lapels of his blazer and adjusted it. "Alright, then." He said. "Roasted chicken. Great."

"We have the next three weeks until we have to turn in a completed meal." Hermione said, trying to ignore the fact that he had just skated over her attempt at an apology. "Once the classroom is transfigured, I think we should probably meet as often as our schedules allow it. Given your… Inexperience."

"Whatever." Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "Fine."

As the class continued, Hermione answered the many questions Malfoy shot at her as Professor Burbage went through and explained the small kitchen appliances, they would have access to and reviewed the absolute basics of cooking safety and sanitation.

She couldn't help but bite back a laugh as Malfoy looked appalled at the knowledge of foodborne diseases and the effects of botulism and salmonella.

When the class ended and Hermione began packing up her bag, having had agreed to meet Malfoy tomorrow evening, she felt apprehensive.

Draco Malfoy seemed _different_.

He hadn't once made a nasty joke toward her or waved her blood status in her face. He didn't scoff at the fact she knew more about something than him, didn't call her names or even threaten her at all. He had been… Cordial. Friendly, almost. It was the most animated she had ever seen him in any of their classes together over the years and she wondered if he had always been that way, and her distaste for him clouded it. Or if perhaps, he had changed over the course of the summer.

Godric knew that Hermione had certainly changed.

For one, she had discovered a love of being alone. In the years before the war, she was almost always attached to Harry or Ron—or both. She was buried in classwork and when she had a moment to herself, she was busy thinking about how to help someone else. She had spent the summer trying to figure out what she wanted, who she wanted to be. After the Prophet had dubbed her "Gryffindor's Golden Girl" and constantly reminding everyone that she was "The Brightest Witch of Her Age" she wanted nothing more than to be _normal_.

The fame of the war was exhausting. She spent months dodging interviews and letters from strangers. After receiving an Order of Merlin that came with a substantial monetary award, she had bought a small home on the outskirts of Bath, in the hills of South Stoke, to spend some time alone and get to know herself again. It was an adjustment, getting used to being alone; without the titles and without the weight of a war they were all much too young to be involved in.

That was part of why she wanted to return to Hogwarts, even without Harry and Ron. She had never even tried to make other friends, not really. She of course had people she considered friends, but she never confided in them the way she could with Harry. She never even confided in Ron the way she did with Harry… Perhaps that was why their relationship had gone sour so quickly.

* * *

Hermione lay awake after an exhausting evening. First, she had nearly been set on fire when Seamus' cauldron exploded, yet again, in potions. After that, there was a huge scuffle in the Great Hall involving three third year boys that she had somehow found herself in the middle of. On top of it, it was the first night she and Malfoy had met to start working on their cooking together.

That had been an experience.

Malfoy had _no idea_ what he was doing when it came to food. They had decided their first study session would be used to show him the mechanics of the equipment. To help him understand how the items worked and what they could all do. He seemed overly frustrated with the topic, however.

"It just doesn't make sense!" He had said, running a hand through his hair. "Why use thirty different things to make one dish, when we can wave our wands and it'll be made?!"

" _Because_ there may be a time you need to eat and don't have your wand!" She had nearly yelled this at him, having already told him half a dozen times in the hour they spent together.

Her eyelids felt heavy as she thought of the day, but every time they closed, leaving her on the precipice of bliss, her mind would whirl. Burning images into the back of her lids like fire and force her eyes back open. The nightmares hadn't stopped. She had tried a slew of things to end them, even taking on muggle therapy! But nothing seemed to work.

She sighed, pushing out of bed and pulling a night robe over her pajamas. Perhaps a cup of tea, chamomile or bergamot, something to help her sleep.

She padded, bare feet, out to the common room and crossed it to the small kitchenette. McGonagall felt that because they were all of age, they should not have to share space with younger students. Many of them being directly involved with the war, she felt it best they have a space of their own to avoid any prying eyes or questions.

Hermione was grateful to McGonagall for that. She enjoyed having her own room, even if it was small, and liked that she could stay up late and not have to worry about waking a first year. Most of the returned Eighth Year students all stayed up late as it was.

"Argh. Damn thing!"

Hermione let out a small yelp as she entered the kitchenette, jumping at the sound of the voice. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she saw a blonde head turn to look at her, eyes wide.

"Malfoy?" She asked, squinting in the dark. "Malfoy, what are you doing?"

"Making a cup of tea." He responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

She watched him, biting her lip in an attempt to hold back a smirk. He was attempting to light the burner on the range without magic. The kettle was already set upon the grate and he was eye level with it as he turned the knob over and over.

"I keep hearing it click! It's not doing a bloody thing but clicking at me!" He said in frustration.

"You have to turn the knob all the way to the left to feed the petrol through. After the click, you turn it slightly right and it lights."

"I've done that!" Malfoy was irritated. He was gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath. "Bloody stupid fucking muggle stove. Can't even light a fire for a kettle!"

Hermione couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up from her chest. As Malfoy pulled himself to his full height and stared at her in disbelief, she laughed harder, holding her abdomen and fanning her face with her hand.

"Ooh." She said, small chuckles still breaking through her breath. "Ooh. Okay. Okay here, let me show you."

She stepped forward to where Malfoy was standing and reached a hand out, grasping at the knob on the range and felt his cool fingers against hers. She felt her face flush as her hand jerked back away from his.

"Oh… erm… Sorry." She whispered, waiting for him to move his hand.

He pulled his hand away and stared at her expectantly, placing one hand in the pocket of his loungers and one of his hip.

She reached out again and looked at him, making sure he was watching, and turned the knob. They listened for the clicking sound before she turned it the opposite direction a bit, slowly, and the flame erupted under the kettle.

"See?" Hermione said, her voice soft. "Easy."

Malfoy huffed as he stepped forward, reaching into the cupboard above her head. His body was flush against hers and she felt her heart beat speed up as she breathed in his scent. His breath hit her ear and she could smell the faintest spearmint.

"You mind moving out of the way a bit, Granger?" He said, looking down at her.

"Oh." Hermione blinked a few times and shook her head. "Yeah, of course."

He pulled down two mugs and set them on the countertop, reaching up again to find the tea. She bit her lip as her eyes roamed his back in the dark, his shirt hitched up as he reached into the top of the cupboard, revealing a bit of alabaster skin. She could make out the muscles in his shoulders as he stretched.

She swallowed, darting her tongue out to wet her lips as she pulled her eyes away from him and stared at her feet, her mind running wild.

 _What is wrong with you?!_ She scolded herself. _That is Draco Malfoy you're looking at! Draco Sodding Malfoy! Draco 'I hate mudbloods' Malfoy! Get it together, Hermione!_

The whistle of the kettle pulled her eyes from her toes and she watched as he poured the hot water into the mugs and turned off the flame of the burner.

"I assume you're up because you can't sleep." He said, handing her the mug. "So, I made chamomile."

She nodded, taking the mug from his outstretched hands and wrapping her fingers around the ceramic. "Thanks."

"Mmm." He made the noncommittal sound and moved past her, walking into the common room and falling onto the couch.

She thought she should go back to her room. She could take her tea in there and go to sleep and not think about her stupid, wandering eyes. Apparently, her feet had other plans and instead of turning to head back to her dorm, she found herself sitting in the armchair across from Malfoy, curling her feet up next to her and leaning an elbow onto the arm.

They sat in silence as they sipped their tea. Malfoy was hunched slightly over, his left arm in his lap and his right hand holding his mug. She furrowed her eyebrows, watching him. He was holding his arm very close to his body, not moving it even an inch. It looked unnatural and—

Oh.

_Oh._

It hit her just then, that this was the first time since returning to Hogwarts she had seen him in a shirt that didn't have long sleeves. The sleeves of his black cotton shirt ended a few inches above his elbows, hugging his biceps and revealing the long, corded muscles of his forearms. A forearm that was _Marked_.

He was hiding his mark from her. He was purposefully sitting in what looked to be a stiff, uncomfortable position to hide the brand on his arm. She felt her own scar through the thin fabric of her cotton robe and bit her lip.

"Does it bother you ever?" Hermione asked, before her brain could stop her mouth from moving.

"Does what bother me?" He asked, pulling his eyes up to meet hers.

She jutted her chin in his direction, motioning to his arm. "The Mark. You're hiding it from me, aren't you?"

Malfoy shifted in his seat, his eyes dropping to his lap. "Would you rather I show it?" He hissed.

"Well, sitting like that can't be very comfortable." She said.

His eyes shot up from his lap and found her gaze, holding it as he clenched his teeth. She could see the muscle along his jaw pull tight. Finally, he let out a slow breath and took a sip of his tea. "I'm perfectly comfortable." He mumbled.

Hermione surveyed him, her lips pulled tight in a flat line. She let out a small yawn and sipped at her tea again. "Whatever you say." She whispered, leaning back into her seat.

Silence hung over them again, thick as mud as the unspoken comments and questions bred into the air, birthing a strange feeling of animosity between them. She did not hate Draco Malfoy. She knew that much. He had been a total _arse_ when they were children, and he was a bit of a prat now, but he had been through just as much as she had. He had been caught in the war against his will and had to fight for his life the same as she did.

Well, not the same.

It wasn't the same, was it?

He fought for _them_. Put his life at risk for the very people who tried to kill her. He _watched_ as his own aunt—

No.

No. Not right now. These were not feelings to unpack at two in the morning in front of the very person she felt them. She took a long, slow breath and tried to center herself. She had forgiven him, months ago, no need to start dwelling on them again.

She should have just gone back to her dorm.

* * *

Hermione gathered her curls between her hands and pulled them high onto her head, wrapping an elastic around them in the attempts to hold them in place for a moment. She blew the few that fell into her eyes, off her face, and turned back to Malfoy.

"There's no possible way we need this much butter." Draco said, pulling his apron strings around his body and tying them. "That has to be at least five hundred grams."

"Four hundred and fifty three, actually." Hermione said. "And you know measurements?"

"I'm a pureblood wizard, Granger. Not an idiot."

She chuckled. "We'll see about that. You have the mixer out?"

He nodded, setting his hand atop the mixer. "I don't understand what we need it for."

"Trust me, doing the butter by hand is tiring."

They began to work, chopping garlic, rosemary and herbs. Draco was skilled with a knife, a talent she supposed he possessed from his skill with potions making. He minced the garlic cloves down and moved on to the rosemary and thyme.

"No- not yet." Hermione said, stopping him before he began to chop the herbs. "You have to remove the herb from the stem."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's unpleasant. Just pluck the herbs off the stem." She said, looking over her shoulder as she placed the chicken onto a separate cutting board.

"This is stupid." Draco grumbled, quickly picking the herbs before chopping them. Once he finished, he handed the small cups that held his ingredients to Hermione. "Here."

She rolled her eyes and took them. "Place the butter into the bowl of the mixer, we're going to add the herbs and garlic and salt and mix it together with the paddle attachment."

"The what?"

"Ugh." She huffed, reaching in front of Malfoy and picking up the attachment to the stand mixer. "It looks like a paddle, see?"

"Doesn't look like any paddle I've ever seen."

"A lot of experience with paddles, have you?" She said, rolling her eyes as she attached it to the mixer.

"Not that type of paddle." He said, sniggering behind his hand.

She turned to face him, pursing her lips. "Can you not be a _total_ git for four seconds!?"

"Oh, come off it, Granger. That was funny and you know it."

"It was not." She said, turning the mixer on and turning back toward the chicken. "Have you cut those onions like I asked you?"

He nodded, handing her a bowl of onions.

Hermione looked into it and laughed. She knew he had no idea how to cook, she knew he had no understanding of food preparation, but seeing the light brown paper-like skin still on the cut onions put her into a fit of laughter.

"What?!" Malfoy said, his brow creasing and a frown pulling his lips downward. "What did I do?"

"It's what you didn't do!" She laughed. "You have to take the paper off the onion before you chop it!"

"Well how was I supposed to know that?" He asked, his eyes wide and his voice frustrated.

She shook her head, sighing as she smiled. "It's fine. Just peel the papers off them now."

"You could have bloody well told me." He mumbled as he picked through the onions.

Hermione was surprised by how much _fun_ she was having. It had been ages since she cooked with anyone else, even if Draco did nothing but chop vegetables. He asked questions and genuinely tried to learn from her. She was shocked by how inquisitive he was. She had always assumed he was the type of person to take things at face value, follow orders that he was given simply because he was given them.

She had been wildly mistaken. He questioned her about everything she did, even asking silly things like "Why does it matter how hot the oven is at?" "How do you know when the chicken is done cooking?" "Why do you keep tasting that?"

He wasn't _ashamed_ that he didn't know a basic skill, as she assumed he would be. He was curious. She had even caught him smiling a bit to himself as he pulled the dried strawberries from the oven.

"Eat one!" Hermione urged. "They're like candy!"

He popped one in his mouth and chewed, looking unsure of himself. "I don't know what kind of candy you eat Granger, but I feel the need to tell you there are better kinds."

She laughed and shook her head, rolling her eyes as he admitted they were good.

For their first time putting the meal together, she was impressed. It was _great_ , but it was good. It was lacking in some seasoning, and the strawberries weren't quite right, but she was confident over the next two weeks, with a few adjustments, it would get there.

* * *

It had been a bad day. After nightmares from the war kept her up all night, she had nearly nodded off in Transfiguration and she had little patience left after dealing with a barrage of questions hurled at her by reporters who had come to do a story about the new Quidditch season. Hermione was appalled. She knew, as soon as she heard there were reporters on the grounds, that whatever reason they had come up with to be there was a farce. She wanted nothing more than to sink into her bed and close her eyes, maybe downing a bit of Dreamless Sleep, and rest.

Instead, she was pulling her hair onto the top of her head and tying her apron, watching Malfoy as he started to work on the strawberries.

"Thinner." Hermione reminded him. "They need to be much thinner. We can use the mandolin, you'll just need to be careful not to cut yourself."

She went to the storage cabinet full of utensils and equipment that Professor Burbage had brought in for the project, and pulled out a metal plank that had a very sharp blade running through the center.

"Here," She said, handing it to Malfoy. "Just be careful, it's extremely sharp."

He nodded, taking the mandolin from her hands and setting it at his workstation. She listened to him fuss as he tried to set it up, clearly becoming aggravated. She tried to ignore him. He could figure it out, she was certain. He's intelligent, surely a muggle mandolin won't throw him off for too long. She went back to the ingredients she was working on, peeling the carrots and chopping garlic.

"Fuck!" Malfoy said, tossing the mandolin down in frustration. "How are you supposed to use this damn thing when it just keeps collapsing?!"

She sighed, wiping her hands on her towel and stepping over to him. "Malfoy, you're over thinking it."

"I am not!" He said, his eyes dark with anger. "I don't know how to use it! You just handed it to me and expected me to know!"

She looked up to the ceiling and took a breath, trying to center her own rising irritation. "Stop acting like a child! It's easy-

"Will you stop saying everything is easy?!" He said, shoving a hand through his hair as his voice raised. "It may be easy for you, but it isn't for me!"

"Calm down." She said, looking toward the door to make sure no one was coming in. "You're angry and there's no reason to be! Here—just let me-

As she grabbed the mandolin, Malfoy pulled it away from her shouting about how he 'can figure it out on my own!' and the blade caught her across the palm. She felt the skin tug as the blade sliced her palm apart. Blood began to spill from her hand and she looked at Malfoy in shock.

"Shit!" He said, his eyes wide, the mandolin still clutched in his hand.

"It's fine. Just- just get me a towel or something!" She said, watching as the blood began to drip from her elbow and splash onto the flagstone floors.

She heard the mandolin clatter to the ground as he dropped it, hurriedly grabbing his towel with one hand, taking her bleeding hand with his other. He pressed the towel into her palm, muttering a quiet "sorry" as she winced.

His eyes were wide, staring at her hand as her blood soaked through the white fabric of the towel, wetting it with red. He looked ghostly, as if he may pass out. He was breathing slow breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth and he looked as if he were going to be sick.

"Are you okay?" She asked him, studying his face. "Malfoy?"

"I'm fine." He bit out, his eyes studying her face for a moment.

"Are you? You don't look it." She pushed.

"It's just a bit of blood." He said, applying a bit of pressure to the wound of her hand. "It's just blood."

Suddenly something in her brain clicked and it filled her with rage. "Did you- Did you think my blood would be… what? _Murky_? Brown from the mud?!" She spat, fury coursing through her.

She wasn't sure where the anger had come from, she had long since decided her anger at him for bullying her was childish and to put it aside. Afterall, he was a product of his environment, wasn't he? But here now, he wasn't in that environment. He didn't have his father staring down the back of his neck to tell him how to think. Instead, he looked disgusted and sick, staring at her blood as it soaked the towel.

"What?" He said, his face pinching with confusion.

"You heard me!" She said, yanking her hand from his grasp. "I'm so sorry to shock you with the fact that my blood is just as red as yours but-

"Granger!" He shouted, his voice shaking. "It's not that your blood is red!"

"Then what is it?!" She shouted back. "What else could it possibly be that has you so disgusted!?"

"I'm not disgusted!" He roared. "I- I'm having a panic attack!"

" _A what_?!" She said, her eyes growing wide.

His breathing increased as he paced around the room, untying his apron and ripping it off his body, throwing it unceremoniously to the ground. He clasped his hands behind his neck and hunched over, crouching down and curling his head into his knees.

"You're serious?" She asked, her anger quickly melting away and concern peppering her tone.

He responded with heavy breaths as he fell on his backside, his knees still drawn up to his chest.

"What- how?" Hermione asked, walking toward him.

"You!" He cried, pulling his hands from his neck and motioning wildly at her from the floor. "You! The last time I saw you bleed was…" He bit his teeth down so hard, she could hear them click together. He covered his face with his hands, scrubbing at it in furious motions.

"At the Manor." She whispered, inching closer to him.

"I couldn't do anything!" He said. "I just- I just stood there and watched! And you were screaming and there was _so much blood_."

She stared down at him, she could see tears clouding his eyes, unwilling to let them shed. He was shaking and his breathing was labored. Her heart _ached_. She had been in this exact position so many times over the summer, so many times that she sat and thought about that night, about scar on her arm and the look on his face while he watched her writhing beneath his aunt.

"Draco, look at me." She said, crouching beside him and placing her uninjured hand on his shoulder.

He tore his eyes from his knees and stared at her. She could see it, the pain in his mind as he tried to breathe. She could see the guilt and shame constricting in his chest as his heart threatened to burst through the cavity of his chest.

"What happened to me, was not your fault." She said. "You were there, but you did not do this to me."

"I didn't do anything to stop it!" He whispered. "I-I wanted to! But it… I couldn't make my feet move! It's like they were fucking stickfasted to the ground! And then you fucking _looked_ at me. You looked at me and I couldn't look away from you and I just- I just watched."

Hermione had spent the summer trying to heal. Mostly alone in her small home in South Stoke, and she had taken the time to try and sort her mind. She had tried to pick the pieces up to put the past behind her and move on. She was human, it was natural that she had nightmares still and bad days. But she had _tried_ to move past it. To adjust into some sort of normalcy.

It would seem, however, Draco Malfoy had not. She could not imagine a scenario where he had taken time to heal, taken time to process and unpack those feelings before sticking them away for good. He would have just let them lay beneath the surface, shoving them down to fester and rot until they finally spilled their foul motives into his brain.

"It's okay." She whispered.

"No, its not okay!" He responded, his breathing finally calming. "It will never be okay. What they did to you… It's not okay."

She sighed and sat down next to him. "I still have nightmares, sometimes." She admitted. "A lot of the time, actually."

"Great." He spat, shaking his head. "Great. I've ruined-

"Let me finish." She said. "I still have nightmares. But never once have you been in them."

He turned his chin toward her, looking at her face. She watched his sterling eyes blink several times before they finally narrowed, urging her to continue.

"Your aunt stars in a lot of them." She chuckled, bringing her hands to her lap. "Your father too. I see Voldemort and sometimes just flashes of light- like spells whizzing past. I see my friends that have died, their faces frozen still. Sometimes, sometimes I even see Harry and Ron. But not once, not one single time, have I seen you."

She watched his eyes as they flitted across her face and she could have sworn they lingered on her lips a moment. His breathing had slowed, back to a normal pace and the color had come back to his skin. He stretched his legs out, finally uncurling them from himself.

"I have them too." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I _only_ see you."

His gaze locked into hers and she felt her breath catch in her throat. Her cheeks grew warm and she bit into her lip. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Malfoy looked away from her and pulled himself up off the floor. He leaned down, gripping her elbows, and hoisted her to her feet with ease.

"We should heal your hand." He said, taking out his wand.

She nodded, pulling the towel that was wrapped around her palm off and presenting her hand to him. He muttered a healing spell and then bent over to grab his apron, slipping it around his neck and tying it in the back.

"So, roasted chicken." He said, moving back to his workstation as if nothing had even happened.

* * *

Hermione could not stop thinking about Draco Malfoy.

She could pinpoint the exact moment when it changed, when something in her head told her that she needed to think of him more, and it was the night they worked together, when he had suffered an emotional break down in front of her.

His eyes had lingered so long on her face she felt as if he could see through her.

She wanted to talk to him about it, to talk through whatever regret he was hanging onto. She was good at that; she was good at talking things out. Good at listing things and sorting them through logically, to observe them and rearrange them as they needed to be to better fit in her mind.

She couldn't rearrange Draco Malfoy.

She had tried to pull at the thread he offered that night, tried to see how much more she could unravel from him. But he was locked tight, an ironclad grip on his emotions now, and he didn't seem to want to talk to her about anything besides their project.

She felt they were making good progress there, Malfoy had even taken on a little more than chopping vegetables now, and he seemed to be more comfortable with the idea of preparing the chicken, though he hadn't actually touched the raw chicken yet.

"You just put the onion and the lemon halves inside-

"Granger, Granger, listen to me. When I tell you there is absolutely no _fucking_ way I am sticking my _hand_ up that things arse…" Malfoy said, his lip curling in disgust as he wrinkled his nose up.

"Honestly, Malfoy!" She said, biting back a giggle. "You aren't sticking your hand… You need to put something in the cavity to help flavor the meat!"

"What's all that bloody butter for then?!" He said, looking at her incredulously. "You need five hundred grams of butter to-

"Four hundred and fifty three." Hermione corrected.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his left eye twitching a bit. " _Four hundred and fifty three grams_ of butter slathered all over this damn chicken, and you _still_ want me to stick my hand in it's arse?! No. Absolutely fucking not."

She couldn't help it. She burst out into laughter, holding her stomach as tears streamed her cheeks. She heard him snigger and looked at him, as they caught each other's eye, Malfoy began roaring with laughter, choking on his breath as he clapped his hands together.

When they calmed and only small burping giggles were coming from their mouths, she finally looked at him again. She hadn't noticed before, the way his entire face lit up when he smiled. Perhaps that was because she hadn't witnessed him truly smile before now. His face was made of winter, pale and cold and hard most of the time. But when he smiled, when he laughed like that, it was pure summer. Warm and glowing.

There it was again, that look on his face, the same intense gaze that had caught her in her place a few nights ago. The same look in his eyes as he stared at her, the laughter leaving the lines of his cheeks as his jaw set and the inquisitive flickering trailed the planes of her face. He stepped forward, the heat of his body invading her space, the smell of his cologne assaulting her nose as she tried to breathe normally.

It was at this very moment that the strange nervous tugging she felt just behind her navel was attraction and, in a few heart beats, several thoughts raced through her mind.

_That's Draco Malfoy. He bullied you, he was mean to everyone. He watched you get tortured and did nothing about it._

_He wanted to, he basically apologized._

_He didn't apologize._

_But he's fit._

_He's not the one who hurt you._

_But he could have stopped it and he didn't._

_He couldn't have stopped it; it would have probably gotten him killed._

_But he's fit._

"Granger." Draco growled, his voice low and steady.

She only just realized she was staring at his mouth, quite enjoying the way his lips puckered as he spoke her name. She tore her eyes up to meet his and a small gasp escaped her, his face lingered mere centimeters from hers, his spearmint breath hitting her face.

"M-Malfoy?" She stammered.

"I wanted to… I'm sorry. For everything that happened, I should have done something."

She didn't know if it was the fact that she had _finally_ been apologized to, the fact that she couldn't stop thinking about how attractive he was, or the way his scent was encompassing her senses, but she pushed herself up onto her toes and within a breath, her lips were on his.

She stood there, lips against Malfoy's, as she waited for him to move. To shove her off of him and scold her, to pull away in disgust… Instead, after the shock of the moment wore down, she finally felt his lips move against hers and it was bliss.

His lips were full and soft, moving with ease against her mouth. She sighed when his mouth parted slowly, willing hers to move with it. His tongue, silky and warm as slipped past her lips and moved within her mouth and she could taste the strawberries they had prepared on his tongue. She shivered as his hand trailed up her neck, cupping her face just below her jaw as his other arm slinked around her waist, pulling her into him.

She twisted both of her hands into his soft as satin hair, her nails lightly pressing into his scalp and she moaned softly when he pulled away from her lips, pressing kissed down her jaw and into her neck. She sighed as he gave a gentle suck to the tender spot above her collar bone. It was only when her back hit the countertop, did she notice that he had walked her backward.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, she was sure he could hear the thumping. She had _never_ been kissed like this before. Ron had been a good enough kisser, she supposed, but he was clumsy and didn't care much to explore her needs. Viktor had been sweet, but she was young and so incredibly inexperienced with anything before him. There were a few muggle men, she had kissed in pubs after she and Ron split up, but it never went any further than a kiss or two.

But this.

This was pure passion. She could feel his need for vindication from her burning between them with each kiss, searing the remorse he felt with his lips into her flesh. She moved her hands along his torso, feeling the hard muscles of his chest under her hands, heaving with needy breaths.

His lips crashed back onto hers and she returned it eagerly, dizzy from the taste of him. She felt his hands as they grasped the front of her apron, desperate to feel her flesh against his and the only thing she could focus on was the burning heat tugging in her lower belly, her body begging for more.

"Wait." She pulled back, pressing a firm hand against his chest and panting as she tried to gather her thoughts from the puddle he had turned them into. "Wait. Malfoy-

"Draco." He panted, his breath dizzying her once more as it hit her face. "Please."

"Draco." She repeated, the name feeling almost foreign to her.

It changed her mind, when she called him Draco. Almost as if it were adjusting her into something more than passing friendship, something more than lab partners. Her eyes landed on his again, and she could see his pupils dilated, his entire face hungry with lust.

"This is… Insane, right?" She asked.

"Barmy." He agreed, tightening his grip around her waist.

"And you… You don't care that I'm not-

"Pureblood?" He laughed humorlessly. "No. I never cared."

"Never?" She asked, feeling skeptical.

"Never." He repeated.

"Oh." She breathed, biting into her kiss-swollen lips. "Sod all."

She pulled her wand from the pocket of her jeans and flicked it to the door, making sure it remained closed and locked before her wand clattered on the ground, her hands moving to her apron and untying it. In a flash, Draco's mouth was back on hers, only parting so she could remove her apron and he could follow suit.

She attacked the buttons of his shirt, her fingers fumbling with the plastic as she tried to quickly pull them apart. Draco gave a low growl into her mouth and stepped away from her pulling the shirt in the middle and popping the buttons off, throwing it onto the floor. She took approximately two heart beats to stare at him before she was pulling her blouse over her head.

He pulled her lips to his again, sucking lightly on her bottom lip as he cupped her bottom and lifted her onto the counter top. His hands made quick work of the clasp on her bra as she traced the pads of her fingers over his chest and back, feeling the lean muscle against her hands. She shook the bra off, tossing it to the floor and he stopped a moment to look down and admire her, she blushed, feeling the almost overwhelming need to cover her breasts. He palmed them, massaging the soft skin under his hands as he licked and nipped at her neck.

She felt his hand trace down her abdomen and linger just above the button of her jeans and she nodded against his shoulder, pressing a kiss into his neck. He unbuttoned them and she felt her mouth go dry as his fingers traced her folds through her knickers.

He pressed his lips into her throat and she lifted her hips off the counter, shimmying out of her jeans and pulling her knickers down with them.

She was exposed. More exposed than she had been in front of someone in months and he just stared at her, his eyes curious and searching, his breath heavy against her and the length of him pressing hard into the inside of her thigh. She bobbed her head forward, stealing his lips again and moving her hands to the front of his trousers to stroke him. He let out a hiss and quickly shoved his trousers and boxers to the ground.

She stared at him for a moment. She could never think of a time that she had seen anyone look so _perfect_. His abdomen was scarred, his arm branded, and his mind broken from the horrors of the war, but he was everything. He was raw and real and he was _beautiful_.

She had never stared at a naked man like this before, never let a naked man stare at her like this before. She had never been caught up, in the heat of the moment, so hot she thought she may boil alive if something didn't release the steam soon. She _needed_ him. Needed to feel him. As she opened her mouth to plead for him to continue, his lips caught hers and she felt his palm press against the apex of her thighs, his thumb swiping in circles around her peak as she gasped in surprised pleasure.

He bit down on her lip, tugging it to him, forcing her closer, as he trailed a finger across her slit, pressing it to her entrance and she moaned as it slipped inside of her, stroking her from her own depths.

"Draco." She gasped. "Now. I need you now."

He removed his hand from her heat, grabbing her knees and pushing them further apart. He lined himself up to her and she heaved a breath as she felt him pressing to her entrance, he tongued her neck, planting kisses back up to her lips before capturing them. She gripped his shoulders and cried out as he finally sheathed himself inside of her, giving her a moment to adjust to the feel of him. She bit down on his lip and he began to move, rocking his hips into hers and grasping her waist, pulling his chest flush against her own.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankle and pulling him deeper into her.

"Fuck, Hermione…" He groaned, his head resting on her shoulder for a moment as he buried himself even deeper into her. "Fuck you're _so good_."

She moaned, her head falling back as he continued slamming into her, his hand moving from her back to swipe at her pearl again. Her thighs were trembling as the heat in her lower belly built up, threatening to explode within her.

She moaned loud, incoherent words of praise as his pace picked up, his hand gripping her hips and pulling her closer to the edge. Finally, she saw stars as the heat exploded and flooded her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She cried out as he continued to rock against her. Finally, after her vision seemed to return to normal and her toes uncurled, she heard his low groaning " _Fuuuckk"_ as he spilled inside of her, his fast-paced thrusts dying into a slow, rocking.

They remained attached at the core for several minutes until Draco seemed to catch his breath. He pulled out of her and she sighed as she adjusted to the feeling of being empty again. He pressed a soft kiss into her neck and bent over, picking up her jeans and blouse and handing it to her.

They dressed in silence.

It seemed awkward, at first, to be so quiet after moaning and groaning so loud. After addressing the very large metaphorical elephant in the room. After having _just_ accepted the fact that she was attracted to him.

"So, roasted chicken, then." Draco said, a coy smile toying at his lips and Hermione let out a loud laugh.

* * *

"Remember, we changed the salad, so it's going to be apples and walnuts instead of strawberries and almonds. But you'll still need to use the mandolin to slice the apple."

"That thing is a death trap." He grumbled.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she adjusted the straps of her bag on her back. "I have faith you can handle it. You did fine last night."

"Only if you set it up for me." He said, stuffing his books into his own bag before slinging it over his shoulders. "I can't figure out how to get the damn feet to stay in place on that thing."

She chuckled and nodded. "Fine. And don't forget to juice the lemons _before_ they go into the chicken. We need the juice to toss the apples in for the salad so-

"They don't turn brown, yeah I remember. What did you call it? Assimilation or something?"

"Acidulation." She corrected. "I'll make the vinaigrette, but the green apple needs to be peeled. They don't blend down as easily as the strawberries did."

"I know." Draco said, sounding annoyed. "I still don't see why we had to change the salad last minute."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "We _just_ talked about this yesterday, Draco! The strawberries won't dry out enough in the time frame. If we want to get an O-

"You're the only person in this class worried about getting an O on this project." He said. "At this point, I don't care anymore. I've eaten enough roasted chicken to last a lifetime and I'm still not sure I'll do a good enough job to warrant an O."

"You've done a fine job." Hermione said. "Our salad was the worst of it, but with that change, it will push us into an O. I'm sure of it."

They exited the common room and started toward the Muggle Studies classroom. In the week since the _encounter_ , they had spent every evening together, preparing the same meal over and over between snogging and laughing. Hermione had come to realize that not only was Draco Malfoy extremely attractive physically, he was attractive intellectually to her. His snarky, sarcastic brand of humor made her laugh until her face hurt most nights and his ability to hold an intellectually stimulating conversation was something she didn't realize until now, had been extremely lacking in her life as of late.

They rounded the corner of the corridor and made their way down the steps. She noticed several sets of eyes staring at them as they passed. She had been noticing the looks all week. In classes, they had began sitting next to each other, working together and sharing little quips back and forth. Their new… _relationship? Situationship? Friendship?_ She wasn't sure what to call it, but whatever it was, seemed to be drawing attention to them.

Not that she particularly cared.

She liked spending time with him. She genuinely enjoyed his company and he could keep up with her. He didn't mock her for studying, didn't make jokes at the organized way she took notes—because he did the same. He seemed to enjoy debating the topics they discussed in classes and going over notes with her. Not to mention the snogging.

 _Or the shagging_.

Whatever this new founded relationship was, she was glad to have it.

They entered the classroom and began to set up their workstation. Professor Burbage had split up the days for the groups, allowing half of the groups to prepare their meal one class, and the other half at the next. Hermione and Draco agreed to be in the first group to present their meal, getting it out of the way seemed like a better idea than spending more time tinkering and working to perfect it.

Hermione new that often times, the best meals were not _perfect_ , but they were made with care.

Draco quickly began peeling the vegetables as Hermione worked the butter and began to prepare the chicken. He was still adamant against touching it in its raw form, the idea of placing something inside the cavity of the bird had absolutely turned him green, but Hermione didn't mind.

They worked together effortlessly, dancing around one another and quietly correcting mistakes as professor Burbage walked around the room, marking notes on a parchment and asking questions about the dishes being prepared. Hermione had chuckled when she heard Blaise Zabini and Hannah Abbot both stammer a response to the professor's questions about the differences in muggle and magical cooking.

"Shit."

Her attention was brought back to Draco as he pulled the walnuts from the oven at the ten minute warning.

"Shit. Granger, we don't have enough time left to start these over." He said, looking at the burned walnuts. "I forgot to turn the temperature down when you took the chicken out!"

"It's okay!" Hermione said, looking at the baking sheet a pursing her lips. "Look! It's just the ones on the outside that were burned, the walnuts in the middle of the pan are still fine!"

She quickly pushed the burned nuts away from the toasted ones, and gave a smile to Draco. He was nervous, she could tell by his constant fussing and fidgeting. It was endearing, almost.

"I've went and fucked it up. Can't even handle toasting walnuts!" He complained, picking the non-burned nuts from the center of the pan.

"Draco, it isn't that serious. We still have some that are useable!"

"That's not the point!" He said, his brows drawn together in frustration as he sifted through the walnuts. "I stayed up all night studying our notes to make sure it would be perfect for you and-

"Perfect for me?" She asked, tilting her chin up to look at them, biting back a smile.

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Granger. Hand me the bloody salad mix."

She chuckled and gave him the bowl and watched as he tossed the salad with the apples and walnuts, adding the vinaigrette and a pinch of salt.

"Did you taste it?" She asked. "You have to taste it before we put it on the platter."

"It's salad." He said.

"Yes, but if we need to adjust the-

"We don't need to adjust anything. It's _salad_."

She folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. But if we fail because you wouldn't adjust the salad-

"Bloody woman!" He exclaimed, shoving a pinch of the salad into his mouth. "See? It's- oh. Wow. That's actually quite good, Granger."

Her face split in a beaming grin. "You like the vinaigrette then?"

"I'll say I was very apprehensive-

"Apprehensive?!" She snorted. "You were _vehemently against_ the idea for this dressing!"

"Well, who eats apples and mustard together?! You can't blame me for thinking that wouldn't work!"

"But it does."

"Yes, it does. Now stop patting yourself on the back and get the chicken to the platter."

They presented their meal and Professor Burbage had each of them take a bite and describe what they felt while eating their completed project, after being stressed out over it for weeks.

"It tastes like home." Hermione smiled. "It reminds me of my dad and Sunday night suppers at home with my parents."

"And Draco?" Professor Burbage urged.

"It's happiness." He said.

He did not explain further, but Hermione did not miss the look in his eyes as his face turned to look at her before turning his attention back to the Professor.

* * *

The following week, after turning in the essays explaining what it was like to cook a meal the muggle way and their experience with working with their partners, Professor Burbage returned the essays with an attached grading sheet, giving a breakdown of each category she marked them on.

Draco slammed his down, a warm smile spreading across his face. "An O! We got an O!"

Hermione laughed. "I told you we would."

"I thought for sure she'd mark us for those vegetables being so wonky. I should really work on my shapes." He said.

Every pair of Eighth Year students, aside from Draco and Hermione scored an A or an E. Professor Burbage praised the class on their dedication to working together and trying something new, even if the idea of it scared them.

When the students returned to the common room that day and discussed their grades further, everyone was interested to see why Draco and Hermione had scored an O, what they had done differently, what had made their meal so good.

So started their Sunday night tradition of Roast Chicken in the common room's small kitchenette, feeding their friends with their carefully prepared dish. Adjusted only with a bit of salt, and a lot of snogging.

.

* * *

.

_**"I think careful cooking is love, don't you? The loveliest think you can cook for someone who's close to you is about as nice a valentine you can give."** _

_**-Julia Child** _


End file.
